


Roses

by EurydicaeQuercus



Series: Is this what a saviour looks like? [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Coping, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 21:52:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18949366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EurydicaeQuercus/pseuds/EurydicaeQuercus
Summary: It's been nearly a year since Zaren defeated Corypheus, but she still has rifts to close and work to do. Fortunately, she now has Arnumin back by her side, and she always finds a way to make things brighter.





	Roses

It was dark by the time Zaren got back to the tent and she was exhausted. It was all very well saying she was going to close rifts all across Thedas, but her arm was slowly getting worse and worse, and she was beginning to feel an overwhelming sense of dread every time she saw that familiar green light shining down on her. At least they allowed her to do it alone now. If they had just let her do that from the start she’d have been saved a lot of trouble. 

Still, it wasn’t all bad. She no longer  _ had _ to stay at Skyhold all the time, for one thing. And she wasn’t entirely alone either. Not that anyone in the Inquisition would ever find out about that. It had been a difficult decision, choosing to keep her wedding a secret, but the more time passed and the longer she was associated with the Inquisition, the more sure she was that it was the correct one. 

Although she had eventually made her peace with the organisation, such as it was, that didn’t erase the fact it had almost broken her from the inside out. She had been used. Torn into tiny little pieces, and she wasn’t entirely sure if she’d ever be the same again. They’d already tried to take everything she was from her, but no matter how much it hurt her to pretend her wife didn’t exist, they would  _ not _ take her. She was too precious. So they wrote letters, and occasionally, when Zaren was allowed free reign, she would go back to Wycombe and take Arnumin with her, always careful to make sure no one was following her. This was one such occasion. 

She couldn’t see any sign of Arnumin when she got back. That wasn’t particularly surprising—she liked to stay out late catching whatever game she could before nightfall. Arnumin was a hunter at heart, and despite the fact they were in a desert where game wasn’t exactly easy to find, old habits died hard. 

Zaren quickly conjured several lights around and inside the tent before lighting the campfire, just to ensure nothing tried sneaking up on her while she was tired. She then entered the tent and slumped onto the floor, just lying flat on her back and staring blankly up at the ceiling for a moment, letting exhaustion roll over her like a wave. She could feel a horrible, aching, fizzing sensation in her left arm, and she let it lie limply next to her, trying not to let her thoughts linger too long on the fact it was killing her. The lights in the tent became dim and flickering as her focus wandered. Living seemed to be a dreadful burden, at times. 

It was just as her thoughts were beginning to progress further down this dark and dreary route, that a voice roused her from her musings. 

“Are you asleep already?” asked Arnumin, sticking her head through the flap in the tent, and peering at her with amusement. 

“Not yet,” mumbled Zaren, forcing herself into a sitting position. Her hand crackled menacingly, as though it was angry she wasn’t paying attention to it anymore. She was starting to think it had a mind all its own at times. 

Arnumin’s eyes flicked nervously to Zaren’s hand when it started acting up, and she couldn’t quite keep the look of worry passing over her face. 

“I managed to catch something,” she said, clearly trying to distract her from her hand. “Look,” she said, then her entire torso was through the flap of the tent, and she was thrusting a brace of rabbits in Zaren’s face. 

“Well done,” said Zaren, once she had gotten a safe distance from the rabbits. “And please come inside, something could attack you while you’re half-in half-out like that.”

“All right, let me put these away safely first,” said Arnumin, ducking out again to store the rabbits, before ducking back in and closing the flap of the tent behind her. “They’re surprisingly fast, those things.”

“I’ve certainly never been able to catch them,” mused Zaren, though she’d never really taken an interest in chasing after rabbits during her travels. She usually had other concerns. “But then, I’m not half the hunter you are.”

“Flatterer,” said Arnumin, grinning. “Besides, I had help,” she continued, taking her bow from her back and smiling down at it. They both knew the significance. It was the bonding present Zaren had given her when she’d finally been able to return after defeating Corypheus. 

She’d carved it herself, under the careful instruction of Master Viren, when she was still back at the Clan, engraving a prayer to Mythal, Arnumin’s patron goddess, all along its length. The finishing touch was to be an enchantment which would enhance its user’s focus while they strung the bow. Zaren had intended to go to the Conclave and finish the enchantment on the way back, presenting it to Arnumin upon her return. Things had not gone quite to plan, but she’d been able to give it to her eventually, and that was what mattered in the end. 

“I’m glad you’re getting some use out of it,” said Zaren, smiling. “Goodness knows I spent enough time on it.”

“Of course I use it!” said Arnumin, mockingly offended. “This is the best bow I’ve ever owned! I’d be a fool not to.”

Zaren just smiled and shook her head, but her expression was quickly replaced with a grimace as she felt another shooting pain in her hand, spreading up her arm. She felt Arnumin place a tentative hand on her shoulder, and she quickly reached up to acknowledge the touch, trying not to wince in the process. There was silence then, for a long moment, as an unspoken truth settled over the both of them. They both knew what the worsening pains meant. Arnumin was taking it badly, Zaren knew, which was why she’d been spending more time with her, but it wouldn’t soften the blow when it eventually came. 

“How bad is it today?” asked Arnumin, her voice quiet and sad. 

“Worse than yesterday,” said Zaren, seeing no point in lying about the matter. “But it’s always like this after I close the rifts. You know that.” 

“I know,” said Arnumin, and she sounded almost as tired as Zaren felt. “I just—I wish I could help you, somehow. I wish I could share your burden, even just for a day. But I can’t, can I?”

“You help me just by being here,” said Zaren, smiling gently at her, which finally caused her frown to break, and a small smile to cross her lips. Then her eyes widened, as though she’d had some sort of sudden revelation. 

“I’ve just remembered, I found something else for you while I was out,” she said, already digging through one of the bags attached to her belt. “Oh, where did I put them…”

She rustled through four of the five bags before finally hitting upon whatever it was she had found. She quickly produced what Zaren imagined had once been several very beautiful desert roses, but were now a bit crushed and bedraggled-looking. 

“Oh no!” she said, looking mournfully at the remains of the roses. “I was going to say they looked so beautiful they reminded me of you, but now look at them. I knew I should have carried them in my hands.”

“Don’t worry,” chuckled Zaren, taking them from her and looking to see if the damage could be fixed. Unfortunately, they seemed crushed beyond repair. “With the state I’m in now you could still probably make some sort of metaphor out of them. A less flattering one, perhaps, but still.” 

“Oh don’t,” cried Arnumin, burying her head in her hands. “You needn’t rub it in, please, I beg of you.”

“At least they smell nicer now,” said Zaren, half-heartedly attempting to console her. “I could crush them into water and make them into perfume.” 

“I suppose so,” said Arnumin, still a little sulkily. “I wanted to get something nice for you though. Now all I have is those rabbits.”

“Please don’t gift them to me, I’d much rather eat them,” said Zaren, shutting that line of conversation before it could get any further. “Besides, as I said, I don’t need gifts or anything else from you. Just having you here with me is enough. I’ve missed you.”

Arnumin blushed under her dark skin, and smiled sweetly, showing her dimples. “You’re too nice to me,” she mumbled, unable to lift her gaze from the floor. 

“No such thing as being too nice,” said Zaren, in an authoritative sort of voice. “And besides, we’re married. If I’m allowed to be too nice to anyone, I’m allowed to be too nice to you.” 

“True.” 

“Now please, if you really want to do something for me, let me rest. I’m exhausted.”

“Alright,” chuckled Arnumin, as Zaren got into her bedroll and got comfortable. “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

“Good,” mumbled Zaren, before closing her eyes and letting the darkness wash over her, finally giving in to the sweet embrace of sleep. 


End file.
